Through War
by Misobel
Summary: (complete) 'For a child, life is at it is. There is no good or evil, and things are not divided into groups. Things are so simple, and so black and white.'


**Disclaimer:**

Don't own Ginny or the mysterious boy she loved.

**Authors Notes:**

Meh. Combined two stories into one! Wahoo!

**Through War**

The rain hit the roof in a loud rhythm, making anyone who was awake during it curse it, and yet love it all the same. The wind whistled around corners, catching unsuspecting stray bits of leaves, grass, wood, and anything else that got in its path into its cold grip. 

If her hair hadn't been attached to her head, Ginny felt it would have flew right off. She could picture little strands being ripped from their safe haven, and joining the sad, lost toupees flying around. 

Freedom. It came in odd spurts of imagination.

Many other people who happened to be out on this fabulously stormy night might ask what a just out of school Virginia Weasley was doing outside, with but a cloak with full pockets, other clothes, a scarf, and shoes. Those people should have learned earlier on in life not to ask questions that wouldn't be answered. 

The fact was that Ginny didn't know what she was doing outside. She had known at the moment of leaving The Burrow, but now that she had been outside wandering around aimlessly for almost an hour she had no clue what had crossed her mind at that moment. 

Perhaps it was the fact that Ron had decided it would be great fun for them all to start arguing with her over a bunch of things that had built up over the years. Her arguing back might not have helped that much, but she wasn't about to blame herself for her stupidity to storm out of his and Hermione's house on such a terrible night. 

Of all nights to decide to run away.

Technically, though, she wasn't running away. She was almost 18 now, which was past the legal age. She had officially been a witch for awhile already, and could spin around in seconds, punch a person in the face, corner them, and capture their hands behind their backs quite easily; from black belt in karate, of course. 

Ok, so that was just a fantasy. 

A cat meowed somewhere near the edge of the woods along the road, and Ginny kicked a loose rock off of the muddy dirt road. 

She sighed. She had to be getting near a town soon. Ron and Hermione hadn't lived in their new house for very long. How they had started off with a house right off was beyond Ginny. She'd end up starting in an apartment at first at the rate she was earning much. A very small apartment, at that. 

But as the writer of this story was saying before she started talking about houses, Ron and Hermione hadn't lived in their new house for very long, and Ginny knew very little about the surroundings, let alone where the closest town was. With her luck they had bought a house in the middle of nowhere just to make her angry. 

Stupid Ron. 

She couldn't blame Hermione for their fight. Like Ginny, Hermione was merely an innocent bystander. But with bushy hair. And also very smart. 

Distracted by her silent cursing of Ron, she almost tripped over the cat that had meowed earlier. Frowning at him (or her), Ginny waved her arm in a silent gesture for the soaking wet cat to leave. The cat refused to, though, and when the girl started walking away, the cat followed. 

Sighing, she decided that a cat for company was better than no company, and allowed the cat to follow her. 

Eventually she saw lights in the distances, and sped up slightly. To her relief, she had come upon a small village, which seemed barely to be three streets full of houses. 

"Watch, it'll be a ghost village, and I'll end up living with ghosts for the rest of my life. At least then Ron will feel guilty," she said allowed to the cat, which just rubbed up against her in reply, causing her pants to get slightly wet and muddy. 

Sighing again, she kept walking forward, towards the nosiest sounding building. Glancing at the sign that stuck out above her head, she found herself even more relieved. In big, slightly worn letters, it said, "The Upside-Down Porridge Bowl." Underneath, in letters that seemed to be 3D, it said, "A gathering place for witches and wizards." 

Ginny pushed the door open, and a little bell clanged. She never had liked those all that much. What was the point? Did every person in the building need to know when Ginny walked in? 

No one looked her way when she entered, and she glanced around. It was old looking, and smelled slightly of smoke and alcohol. The hazy air filled Ginny's lungs, and she was the warm building stopped her shivering slightly. 

After asking the bartender where the washroom was, she made her way towards the back. Two light brown doors stood there, and she pushed open the one inscribed with 'Gilrs' (spelling mistake and all), locking it behind her.

She scrunched up her nose at the dirty bathroom, but began emptying her pockets onto the sink. Hair pick, ponytail, two knuts, a mint, her wand, and a neatly folded picture and letter were all placed on the surface. Next she peeled off her cloak, and draped it over the corner of the sink top. 

A knock came on the door then, and a woman's voice drifted through, "I brough' a towel for yee, girl. I noticed yee were wet from the God's crying."

Ginny opened the door a little, and thanked the lady, who most likely partly ran the bar with her husband. 

Now she wouldn't have to use magic. That was good. She never had mastered the drying spells. Last time she tried, she set fire to the log she was trying to dry. 

The towel on her hands, and her hair between them, she began towel drying her hair, until she wasn't dripping anymore. 

When she was finished she set the towel down on the sink, then ran the hair pick through her hair. After finishing that, she set it all down and sat on the floor, waiting for her cloak to dry at least a little. 

After sitting for a moment she quite resisting temptation and picked up the folded piece of paper and the picture. 

_"When I was young, I never thought about the future. It was always something that was distant. Yes, I knew it would come, and I accepted that. I did not think I would die before it would come for me, or that perhaps it would be any different. _

_For a child, life is at it is. There is no good or evil, and things are not divided into groups. Things are so simple, and so black and white. I knew not to ever go near that lake out in the forest, because mom told me not to, and I knew that I could go sit on the wall, as long as I told someone I would be there. _

_What was right and what was wrong were two totally different things, and they never did get mixed into each other. There was nothing in between. The things that existed just did, and things were so easy to separate into the two groups. Those two groups, good and bad, were the only things that divided the world. _

_Now houses, school, nationality, and whom they support divide people. And good and bad have merged into one, and it is sometimes hard to tell the difference. I do not know who I can trust, or who I can't, because sometimes the people I first think I cannot trust, I can trust more than those who I first think I can. _

_And I have discovered myself masking the real me, so I can distinguish good from bad by myself. I have let others think I am one way, when I am not actually. I am finding myself becoming one of those who people might not think they can trust, but they can, or vice versa. I hide the real me, and I know it. _

_But no one else does. _

_I cannot believe I let the world I held as a child slip away through my fingers. I know that it could not have ever been the same, with the rise of Voldemort and his supporters, but I could have held on to some of those simple pleasures, and held onto what I knew already. _

_What I used to know seemed to have slipped away also. The world is a completely different place, now, and things keep changing sides, and going into different groups…_

_The people I used to trust have gone and betrayed me. I have been pushed aside, being told, though not directly, that I am not worthy enough to fight this fight. Because this fight is not my own, supposedly. _

_This fight, though, this fight for life, is everybody's, anymore. The children are even being affected, and the short time we have where things are black and white, where things are simple, is being stolen from us, because of this fight that people are creating. _

_It does not need to be real. We do not need to be divided; yet we choose to anyway, because everyone has different opinions…"_

Her writing from way back then was neat, and still held its usual twirl. Why she had kept this piece of paper she had written on for so long was simple. It held it's own type of memory. It held the hope of that time in the wizarding world when Voldemort's reign was the highest. He still lived, yes, but at the moment was staying quiet. She hadn't yet decided whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but most people seemed relieved for the short break. Or long, depending on how long it lasted. 

_"When people fight with fists, and curses, do they really show much? Do they gain the respect of others? Or is mental, or emotional strength, which gains respect?_

_Is there actually any real thing as respect, though? If so, what is it? Is it looking up to a person?_

_I could form more questions, but I could not answer them. Because respect, in these times, is an odd thing to think about. There are many who might have the respect of others, but the question is… why?"_

That was written on the back. She had scrawled it on messily afterwards. After lying in bed for an hour trying to get some sleep while nearby a house went up in flames. She had known that house was empty, and that was she was still calm. Besides, things suddenly being set on fire wasn't that odd anymore. Most witches and wizards cast spells on their homes to stop it from happening. 

Underneath that last little bit, something else was written. It was a different persons writing, also, and belonged to the one person who she had let intrude upon her deepest thoughts. And that one person had been torn from her with a simple flick of a wand. 

_"You think too much,"_ it said. Yes, she thought too much. And he knew that. But he had liked that about her. Her thinking too much had also saved her life. But it didn't save his. 

She set the letter down beside her, and picked the picture up. It was a wizarding picture, and the two people in it moved, smiling, laughing, glaring, walking. They had their own little lives, those two people, even when one of them had lost their real life not long ago. 

She flipped over the picture to her favorite part. Yes, the back of the picture held her favorite part of the whole picture. On the corner, in the same writing that wrote the note on her paper full of thoughts, was written _I love you._

Ginny smiled, despite her sadness. 

"And I still love you."


End file.
